


Under the Mistletoe

by yikesola



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Non-Youtubers AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28239183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikesola/pseuds/yikesola
Summary: Phil doesn’t really think about it when he makes the extra click. He’s mostly clicking with the brief wondering of if the guy dropping off a, for once intentionally dead houseplant, will flash some calf or not.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 49
Collections: Phandom Fic Fests Holiday Exchange 2020





	Under the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lazyfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfic/gifts).



> lazyfic’s prompt: _Meet cute at their current ages during the holiday season! Maybe they meet at a friend's Christmas party or while out Christmas shopping. Maybe Dan is the kilt wearing Christmas tree delivery man lol_

Phil doesn’t really think about it when he makes the extra click. Sure, last year he had thought for maybe a little too long about the offered option of his Christmas tree to be delivered by a man in a kilt, and about the disappointment melded with annoyance when it didn’t happen. But this year he’s mostly clicking with the brief wondering of if the guy dropping off a, for once intentionally dead houseplant, will flash some calf or not. 

When he hears the buzz for someone asking to be let in the building, Phil sees the distinct darkness of denim-covered legs even on the small grainy screen. When the guy actually knocks on the door to Phil’s flat, Phil has half a mind to shout, “You’re not coming in without a kilt!” 

Of course, he doesn’t. Of course, the thought of joking around with a stranger like that has him instantly anxious. He’s even got some nervous sweat when he pulls the door open. 

“Hey,” the guy says, face red from the biting December day outside and the stuffiness of the lift. A good face. A face with a smattering of freckles including two by his jaw which is blending with the red. A face with soft angles and gentle curves; a face topped with curled hair that still somehow has some unmelted snowflakes clinging to it. A face Phil spends a little too long looking at before stepping aside so the tree leaning against the man can be brought in. 

“Hey,” Phil says when he finds his voice. “So they were all out, huh?” he asks before he can stop himself. 

The guy stops even though he’s only four steps into the flat, and turns around looking confused. “Out of what?” 

Phil wishes he had the nerve to just bite off and swallow his whole tongue. Instead, he has to deal with actually answering. “Er…” he coughs, “A kilt.” 

The guy starts walking again, but before he does his face breaks out into a crooked smile— complete with dimples and eye crinkles, and the tree shakes a little with what Phil hopes is laughter. 

He’s been guilty of falling in love with strangers before. Cute emo guys who also braved the LGBT societies at uni. Beer drinking, lip ring having, straight guys on the train. People he’s thirst followed on social media. But he’s never had any of those strangers standing in his lounge before. It’s a little too real for him; a little less _and now I am planning our summer wedding, and now I am dreaming of our house in the country_. 

“We just assumed that was a misclick,” the guy says while on his knees, wrestling with the tree stand. 

“Well, you know what they say about when you assume,” Phil says. He’s stuffed his hands awkwardly into his pockets. 

Thankfully he laughs at Phil’s stupid joke. “Most people who request a kilt are like… drunk housewives who haven’t seen a calf since summer ended and their pool boys went home. Or like old Scottish businessmen who are rightfully peeved that they’ve ended up in London.” 

“So you thought you were doing me a favour by covering up,” Phil smiles. Tries to smile. He thinks his face is probably making something like a smile but he’s not entirely sure as he’s still preoccupied with making normal human expressions and not making himself any more awkward in this interaction than he already has. The tree is set up and it looks lovely, and when the guys stands up it is just about as tall as Phil is. Only the guy looks like he’s slouching, which Phil can’t say anything about without the pot calling the kettle black. 

“Exactly,” he says with that crooked smile back in place. “Besides, it’s December out there, mate. I want as much coverage as I can get.” 

“Fair,” Phil nods. He’s pretty sure he has a crooked smile of his own on his face. Can feel it straining his cheeks which haven’t worked this hard all day. 

He kind of wants to ask this guy to stick around for a drink, he kind of wishes he’d hung some mistletoe that he could happen to stand under, he kind of wants to suggest they run away together. He knows it’s some dumb combination of not having kissed anyone in a while and watching too many made-for-TV holiday movies that always ends in simplistic romance. Simplistic but… nice. Nice to look at. Nice to think about. 

Instead of doing any of those crazy things though, he just thanks the tree delivery man and says goodbye and once he’s alone in his flat again Phil sets about stringing the tree up with lights. 

-

Because he works from home, Phil hardly has interactions with his coworkers outside of emails. It makes mandatory team building activities like the annual office Christmas party terrifying. An evening spent in the atrium hall of their office building, everyone in their barely festive business casual, drinking their two comped cocktails and trying desperately to connect faces to email addresses but mostly failing. 

He does what he can to make it better. He wears a Christmas jumper which is fun because is has an alien ship abducting presents on it over his collared business shirt and tries to pass off black jeans as proper trousers. He orders the drinks with the most sugar and drags his friend Bryony along so he can have someone to talk to that he knows he already likes. The hors-d’oeuvres are good and he hasn’t spilt anything on anyone, so the night feels like it’s actually going pretty well so far. 

Phil is even a little giddy when he looks out at the city through the immense windows and sees snow falling. It’s visible in the street lights and otherwise missing in the night, and Phil remembers watching the snow from the window of his childhood bedroom and feeling a specific delight. 

He tells Bryony he’ll be right back as she’s in line for her second drink, and steps outside to the little balcony which is usually crowded with smokers but right now is rather quiet. He pulls out his phone and tries to find a nice angle that captures him and actually shows that it’s snowing. 

“You taking a selfie?” he hears, but before he can even register the question he’s smacked in the face with a loose little powder snowball. 

He screams and tries to understand what just happened and hears a loud cackle of a laugh. It isn’t a mean laugh though. Phil would be feeling a very different twist in his stomach right now if it were a mean laugh. 

“I’m sorry, that was dumb,” the weirdly familiar voice says. “I couldn’t help it though.” 

Phil wipes enough snow off his glasses to see the tree delivery man standing in front of him. He’s still wearing black jeans, but now he’s also got on a black turtleneck with what Phil thinks surely is too many zips. Phil’s only turtleneck doesn’t even have _any_ zips. 

He starts laughing too because he doesn’t know what else to do, and thankfully the stranger keeps smiling. 

“I’d forgive you easier if you actually had a kilt on this time,” Phil says. 

“I’ll try to remember next time, how about that?” he says. That red patch by his jaw is back, and Phil is trying to tell himself it’s probably from the cold. But he isn’t sure. 

“Deal,” Phil says. He holds out his hand. The guy shakes it. His hand is so warm in Phil’s. 

-

The tree delivery guy’s name is Dan. Turns out he has an actual day job when not falsely advertising kilts, one which has never involved him and Phil emailing each other so Phil doesn’t feel too horrible for not recognizing his apparent coworker. 

Dan has a nervous habit of bringing his hand up to fuss with the curls falling into his face. He has a voice which hits just the right decibel in a murmuring crowded room that has Phil leaning in closer to hear him. He has an easy laugh he gives generously, even if Phil is pretty sure he’s just being an awkward mess rather than actually saying anything funny. 

And he’s got a little more bravery than Phil, it seems. Because while they are grabbing fresh drinks from the far too patient caterer, he asks Phil if they could step somewhere a little less crowded. 

“Will your friend mind?” Dan asks. “I just hit my limits with crowds fast and could use a breather.”

Phil looks over at Bryony in conversation with someone he mostly recognizes. She doesn’t look stressed and when her head lifts to catch his eye she seems to do some quick calculations before smiling and rolling her eyes and waving him away. “Yeah,” Phil tells Dan, “Sounds good.”

They’re talking down a Pokémon spiral because Dan is one of the few people left in the world still playing _Pokémon Go_ and there’s a Rhydon in one of the glass-walled conference rooms. They half-whisper the theme song and tell different horror stories from their younger years about cards lost and games erased. They agree to disagree about the best starting type. For now. 

Phil kind of likes that idea. That they could have this same silly argument again. And many more like it. That it’s easy to talk with Dan. Easier than tongue-tied Philip Lester ever finds talking to people. 

He catches his reflection standing next to Dan in one of the darkened windows of the different offices. 

He looks and tries to stop the rational part of his brain screaming at him not to fall for a complete stranger. He tries to ignore the nagging thought that someone who happens to like the same wildly popular franchise as him, someone with pretty eyes and even more freckles when Phil looks up close, is not his soulmate. 

This is not a Christmas movie. 

There won’t be a big damn kiss and fade to black and credits rolling with a questionable cover of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” playing. 

But Dan grabs his hand as the image of another Pokémon just down the hall appears on his phone, and Phil does his best to let those matter-of-fact but melancholy thoughts stay behind. 

Dan catches the Pokémon, his millionth Rattata, and slips his phone back into his pocket. He leans against the wall with one knee bent and his foot flat behind him. Phil stands in the middle of the hallway, wanting to step forward and not sure he should. 

The hallway is so quiet. They can’t hear any of the party from here. 

Phil sees Dan’s eyes drift up to the ceiling, and he laughs. A quiet little huff of a laugh. 

“What?” Phil asks. He’s whispering. He isn’t sure why he’s whispering. 

Dan stops leaning against the wall, and points up. “Mistletoe,” he says. 

Phil looks up. Sure enough, a great big bunch of green with a little red and white and two silver bells. He thinks this might be the first time he’s ever seen real mistletoe in his life. 

The panic alarm in his mind tells him he’d better tell a joke. “I’ll bet HR has gotten double the complaints since that went up,” he says with a shaky chuckle. “Can’t go around kissing your coworkers.” 

Dan’s smile doesn’t budge. Instead he takes two steps closer. “Oh, definitely not. Unless… you didn’t know they were your coworker until today. It’s a big office.” 

“Oh yeah,” Phil says. Whispering again. A choked whisper this time. “That’s… that’s different.” 

Dan takes another half step closer. The half step was all he could take; Phil can feel the buzzing energy from him. “Can I kiss you even if I’m not in a kilt?” Dan asks. His eyes are hooded; he’s looking at Phil’s lips. 

“If you promise to wear one next time,” Phil says. There’s no time for him to congratulate himself on a surprisingly smooth answer, before Dan’s hand is behind his head and pulling him in. 

Dan tastes like his bitter drink and the piece of candy cane Phil had offered him from his own drink earlier. He smells like Christmas trees and warm. His hands hold Phil tight, as though afraid Phil will stop existing if he doesn’t. There are many anxious awkward moments in his life that Phil had hoped he could stop existing for a bit; just apparate out of the room or at least turn invisible. But Phil could keep existing for this. 

He doesn’t know the protocol for mistletoe kisses, how long they should last or how deep they should get. And it seems Dan doesn’t either— or that he doesn’t care. Dan lets out a soft sigh that makes the palms of Phil’s hands ache as he holds onto Dan’s hips. 

The sound of the party returns. Faintly still, very faintly. It’s little bursts of applause as their different managers give generic well wishes. Phil pulls back just far enough to press his forehead against Dan’s and try to catch his breath. He knows he has to go find Bryony. He knows he should ask Dan for his number. Part of him even wonders if he should make some joke like _Well, you know where I live so just show up later with that goddamn kilt_. He may end up doing some version which combines everything. 

Instead, for now, he tilts his head and kisses Dan again. He still doesn’t know much about mistletoe etiquette. But surely two or three kisses are allowed.


End file.
